Thirty-Five

"You are correct, Dumar," Celouise said. "We have a great deal to discuss," she turned. "Grethron! Rouse yourself and speak of your brother."

The old man raised a bleary-eyed head towards her.

"Now you wish me to speak," the Necromancer rumbled in a slurred voice. "I have received information from a traveller who has seen, first hand, signs of what he describes as several large gatherings of people.

"Obviously, such a thing would not normally be considered unusual, however, the person I spoke with was concerned with a number of things," Grethron poured himself another drink.

Celouise shook her head in disdain. The old man took a long draught and nodded in appreciation.

"Excellent," he commented.

The queen let out a frustrated sigh.

"Well?" She almost shouted. "What were these things your source was concerned with?"

Grethron raised one eyebrow as if to ask what the woman was speaking of.

Why do you want to piss her off? What you gonna get out of that? Dumar wondered. I know you like a drink or two but this is too much. I suppose watching your nephew die after having his chest slashed open and one of them fucking cylinders stuffed in would drive anyone to drink. I wonder what's going on inside your old brain. Why did you hide being a prince and being related to the queen? Makes no sense at all Grethy-baby.

Grethron had been missing for some time, that much was sure.

Did you leave the queen to manage with her children after her husband, your brother, was killed? Why? Would this King Jarhine have wanted you to stay and help his bereaved wife or just piss off and leave her with it? With many questions and no answers Dumar turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

"He reported several groupings of people yet there appeared to be no animals or shelters to provide for them," Grethron stated.

Celouise looked at him incredulously.

"Is that it?" She asked in outrage. "That is the evidence on which you base your assumption Malthrom is coming again?" The queen shook her head. "I think the years of absence have addled your brains!"

"He saw Syclardii," Grethron stated flatly.

All three royal heads turned sharply to the old man, Celouise and Warval paled significantly.

"He was not aware of their purpose," Grethron said more quietly. "However, from his description of their manner and appearance, there could be no mistake as to their identity."

Celouise slumped back in her chair while Warval covered his face with one hand and Alystra returned to her study of Dumar.

"What's a Syclardii?" Dumar wondered with a puzzled expression.

Grethron made a short reply.

"Summoned creatures Malthrom uses in order to aid his mind control of so many people," the old man noted Dumar's expression had not changed and added. "As powerful as my brother may seem, he is still governed by the limitations of his own mind and is unable to exert his will over thousands of people.

"The Syclardii, on the other hand, can wrest the consciousness from a larger number of people at a time and subsequently maintain control."

Dumar considered this information for a few seconds, wondering if it may be of some use.

"Where?" Celouise wondered in a small voice.

"On the southern part of the Latban mainland," Grethron explained. "He was visiting the lands of his ancestors, a people who Malthrom destroyed as part of his last attempt at conquest.

Below the foothills of the Cross Border Mountains, between the headwaters of the river Tumlow and spread out across the Ctlan grasslands were the homelands of the Pat'nathoor."

Dumar turned to look at the old man who nodded.

"Once he had studied the things he wished to see and was making his way north over the mountains to skirt the Hamzard wastes, he encountered the people

"Not wanting to become involved with the proceedings, he wisely remained at a safe distance and was well hidden as he spied on them," the old man continued, his drunkenness seemingly gone.

"He made his way to one of the ports along the northern coast and managed to gain passage on a ship bound for Syvack by way of Farge on the main Vorthan Isle. Once he made land at Syvack he forwarded a message to me before making his way here."

Celouise thought for a few moments before asking.

"Is this person a reliable source of information?"

Grethron nodded.

"Yes, Cel, he is my son."

She looked at him in shock.

"You are married?" The queen exclaimed.

"No. He is adopted, in a way. I raised him from a hatchling."

"Hatched? He is of the Pat'nathoor?" She wondered in surprise.

"Of course," Grethron replied in an offhand manner. "I managed to find a single egg," The old man spoke as if this information should be well known.

The discussion was interrupted by a knock, which one of the Royal Guards answered in order to admit Commander Fultard.

The events of the day had definitely taken its toll on the commander of the Royal Guards, he looked tired and haggard in spite of the fact he was immaculately attired. The older man approached the Queen and bowed.

"I have had Prince Saruline laid out in state according to law and tradition, majesty," Fultard almost whispered

Celouise reached a hand out and touched him tenderly on the forearm.

"So formal, Demanius?" She asked gently.

"It is a formal time, majesty." Fultard answered sadly.

"Sit and have a drink with us, please?" She asked as a friend rather than his superior.

Fultard nodded and moved to sit beside Dumar who acknowledged him with a meeting of eyes and a nod of the head.

"You were speaking of your son?" The queen prompted Grethron.

"I am unsure if there is anything more to speak of," The old man said, "Although..."

"What?" Celouise asked.

Grethron scratched one cheek and replied in a gentle tone of voice.

"It is something Saruline spoke of before he was lost to us. He told me he had received a communication from Malthrom telling him help would arrive which would assist him in taking the throne," Grethron shook his head sadly. "Saruline, blinded by his need for the throne, was taken advantage of."

"By Malthrom?" Celouise sniffed as Grethron nodded.

Fultard rubbed at his eyes as Grethron spoke once more.

"I am sorry, Cel."

The queen shot him a look.

"For what?" She asked.

Grethron actually looked guilty

"For not being here," he stated. "If I had returned sooner, I may have been able to put a stop to Saruline. I might have sensed there was something amiss with those guards he had. I might have managed..."

"It would not have made any difference," the Queen said shortly. "It serves no purpose to blame yourself for these things. Saruline made his choice and it cost him his life," she finished sadly.

As the atmosphere once again turned sombre, Dumar made a quiet inquiry as to the whereabouts of Vilt, who had seemingly been overlooked.

Fultard explained the lad had been taken to the guard's infirmary where he had almost immediately fallen asleep after the frightening events that had taken place within the palace.

Dumar wondered how the youth would be affected by the stressful sights he had seen and resolved to try and find him if he could.

Queen Celouise was ending a quiet conversation she had been having with her son and daughter when she noticed Dumar concealing a yawn once more.

Signalling to one of the guards, who snapped to her side attentively, she spoke a few words after which the woman hurried from the room.

Moments later a sober looking, whip like man with a greying horseshoe of hair and sharp features entered and approached the royal family, whispering to the queen even as he executed a bow.

"Gentlemen," Queen Celouise spoke up after standing. "Accommodations have been prepared for you," she met Dumar and Grethron's gaze. "I shall take all your information under advisement and arrange a meeting for early tomorrow," the queen moved around to where the two men had gained their feet. "Thank you, Dumar," she said in a hushed tone. "For your service today, it will not be forgotten."

Wondering, exactly, what he really had done to be of service to this woman, Dumar smiled politely and dipped his head in what he thought would be an acceptable bow. Celouise turned to her brother in law and spoke.

"It would have been preferable for you to have at least informed me of your state of being, if not your whereabouts," she sighed. "I would have respected your privacy, Greth, after everything you went through for us all, I would have granted you anything. You did not have to hide yourself away," the queen still sounded hurt as she spoke. "Well, time passed cannot be changed," she added. "I would appreciate your presence in my stateroom tomorrow."

"Of course, Cel." Grethron replied with a slight twitch of his lips. "Come, Dumar, I will show you to your room."

With a nod towards Fultard, who raised his glass, Dumar followed the old man from the room.

A pair of Royal Guards fell into step a short distance behind the pair as they walked in silence through the hallways and corridors of the palace. Reaching yet another wooden door at the terminus of one of the corridors, Grethron reached down and grasped the handle to access the room beyond.

Inside seemed to be a shared sitting room with several open doors leading to bed chambers or other rooms.

Tapestries depicting various scenes, mainly battles, draped the walls and a pair of painted busts stood atop wooden pillars, their lifeless gaze directed towards the centre of the room.

Rugs covered the stone floor, insulating against the cold from the stones.

Dumar's nose detected a hint of dust and a floral scent which, combined with the smell of wax polishes and water, indicated these rooms had only been recently cleaned, probably due to their new occupancy.

In the centre of the room, bordered by plush sofas and cushioned chairs, sat a pool of water. A small line of stones had been built around the edge to contain it but Dumar could see it was around four feet deep.

Ripples on the surface indicated there was some kind of current running through it and he looked down to see several fish drifting lazily about in the water.

Bright blue, orange, red and even pink, their scales caught the light as they moved, flashes of neon in a dark pond.

Dumar placed his bag against one wall and dropped down into one of the comfortably upholstered chairs which were arranged around a low table in the middle of the room.

"Well, well," Dumar began with a slight hint of sarcasm, "I have had a revealing few hours," He looked at the old necromancer who was barely able to meet his gaze. "A prince no less and the king's brother!" Dumar took on an even more sarcastic tone. "Then, of course, is the best little gem of all!"

Grethron slumped into a chair and stared silently at the floor.

"You were told not to nick someone's soul and bring it here," the big man fell silent, sitting back in the chair and placing one ankle on the opposite knee.

He rested his elbows against the arms of the chair and rested his chin gently on his index fingers, rocking his head slowly from side to side as he concentrated on the old man.

Had he known this was one of Alan McCabe's favourite sitting positions he would have been appalled.

"Really I don't get why you felt the need to keep all this stuff from me," the big man observed. "I clearly remember," Dumar continued. "Having a talk just before I met M'thar, a discussion centred around not fucking lying to me," Dumar continued the sarcastic tone. "Lying by omission is still lying, matey and I've just about had my fill."

"Dumar..." Grethron began.

"Shut the fuck up!" Dumar growled. "I'm not going to listen to any more of your fucking lies," he levelled his right index finger at the old man's shocked face. "You need to stay away from me for a long, long time," he added.

With that final sentence echoing through the room, Dumar grabbed his backpack and made his way to one of the rooms, closing the door quietly behind him.