Grethron stroked his beard and took a pair of the pastries from the tray which now lay upon the mirror sheen of the table's surface.
"Really?" He sounded genuinely interested and after taking a bite of the food, he turned to Vilt and spoke again. "Is this true, boy? Have you some vocal talent?" The old man tore some more of the pastry apart. "These are excellent, Sherilee."
Dumar took one of the pastries and was pleasantly surprised to find it contained a meat similar to ham drenched in a rich cheese sauce seasoned with unfamiliar herbs and spices. The big man chewed contentedly as the youth spoke in a clear and confident manner which belied his furtive nature.
"I have made a few coins singing in inns and drinking establishments before, my lord," his voice had a tone and timbre which resonated beautifully in Dumar's sensitive ears. "Some have said I have a fair tone."
"Grace us with a song, then, so we may judge for ourselves, Vilt," it was the first time M'thar had spoken since the pair entered and the abruptness of his sentence combined with his harsh mode of speech made it sound more like an order.
Silence dropped over the few gathered at the table as Vilt poured his heart and soul into a ballad which captivated the small audience, taking them on an emotional journey.
Describing the path of a simple soldier who had to leave his love behind, the ballad, with Vilt's pure voice, combined to stimulate images filled with raw emotion, colour and depth.
As the young man drew the story to a close, Dumar noted Sherilee was openly weeping while Grethron seemed to be trying not to. M'thar's face was an unreadable mask, yet even he seemed moved by the song.
Dumar remained emotionally unaffected, however he did appreciate the youngster had an overwhelming talent that had gone undiscovered. Vilt allowed his amazing voice to trail off into silence on the final note, his audience of four unwilling to break that silence. It was Vilt himself who finally spoke.
"What do you think?" He asked almost shyly.
Grethron and M'thar looked towards one another before Grethron, in a choked voice, replied.
"I have never heard that ballad sung so beautifully, Vilt. You have a rare and amazing voice, unparalleled by any I have heard before," the old man paused as if considering something. "Would you accompany us to the palace and allow me to present you to the queen? A talent such as yours should be recognised."
Vilt managed to look awed, nervous and happy simultaneously.
"Th-the palace? Really? That would be amazing," he said in a reverent tone.
Grethron turned to a now more composed Sherilee and spoke again.
"I want you to take Vilt and purchase some clothing suitable for presentation at the palace," he looked the boy over. "He may benefit from a good wash and hair cut too. The rest of the day is yours to do as you see fit." The young woman nodded and turned to leave. "Excellent work, Sherilee, thank you."
She smiled, almost coyly, revealing two small but sharp looking incisors before leaving, with Vilt trailing along behind her.
"Remarkable," M'thar observed shortly.
Grethron raised his eyebrows, nodding in agreement.
"Well?" Asked Dumar.
Grethron looked puzzled for a moment before answering.
"Ah. Yes. Well I am not quite sure as to what would happen if you declined to help."
Dumar could detect no hint of a threat in the sentence.
"Wouldn't you just send me back?"
"I cannot see a way to send you back I am afraid, Dumar," he shrugged. "There would be nowhere to put your soul as your body was... destroyed?" Grethron made the last word into a question as if Dumar would know of what he spoke.
The big man frowned.
"Destroyed? What do you mean, 'destroyed?'"
Grethron seemed at a loss to explain.
"Well, just that," he answered. "As soon as your soul departed your body, it..." The old man pulled his hands apart as if to indicate disintegration or explosion.
Dumar's mind raced. Exactly what had happened after he had shot himself? What had McCabe done this time? The big man wondered if he would ever know.
"So I'm a prisoner here then?" Dumar stated bitterly. "Same shit, different planet!"
"Far from it," the old man interjected quickly. "There are a number of options available to you. Of course I hope you will assist us in saving my world."
"Save the world?" Dumar interrupted. "You said you wanted me to murder your brother."
Grethron winced at the word murder and made a calming gesture.
"I will explain everything in due course," Grethron said and returned to the subject. "As I said there are many options available to you if you decide against us."
Dumar stood and took a few steps away from the table.
"I need to get some air," he stated shortly.
"Might I join you?" Grethron enquired. "I may be able to further explain my situation and the reasons I brought you here."
"What if I say no?" Dumar wondered. "What then?"
"Then I will wish you a pleasant walk and direct you towards the door which you will find over there," the old man gestured to a wooden door studded with large nails and hinged with large metal constructs.
He and M'thar watched in silence as the big man approached the portal and laid his hand upon the huge metal ring, opening it.
"Come on then," Dumar said as he wrenched the locking mechanism clockwise.
The outside of Grethron's home was as plain and lacking in inspiration as the interior.
The grounds, however, were a mass of colour with trees and shrubs cascading floral bouquets in as many colours as could be discerned.
Dumar found himself enveloped in a heady mix of perfumes ranging from sweet to intensely spicy.
He noted many forms of insect and bird life attracted by the display and was almost overwhelmed when he saw a tiny creature flitting amongst some teacup sized blooms.
As he approached the bird, for that was what it was, it landed gently in the centre of a deep crimson flower and dipped its tiny face into the pool of rainwater which had gathered in the bloom.
Dumar watched, fascinated, as the tiny creature dipped its minuscule beak into the water and brought its head up to drink. His awareness was drawn away from the bird as he saw yet another unrecognisable type of fauna.
Upon close inspection the creature was approximately the size of a koala, it sat idly licking one of its front feet, dusty red in colour with a pink tip to its extremely bushy tail. The creature's large, rounded ears were completely hairless and black. Eyes, that seemed to have no pupils and were such a bright shade of vermilion they looked to glow, stared warily in Dumar's direction as its pink nose twitched constantly sampling the air.
Grethron approached it and ran a hand across its head and down its back causing the creature to nudge against his hand and close its eyes.
"Back for some more scraps, are you?" The old man spoke gently to the animal as he scratched behind the odd ears eliciting a contented hum from the creature. "Or have you been free with your virtue again?" He took the creature's chin in his hand and brought its head up to look in its eyes. "Are you going to be a mother again, Pree?"
"Pree," the furry animal chirped in response to her name and stood rubbing her head against the old man who smiled warmly.
Showing the disdain and utter ignorance common to cats, Pree turned her back on Dumar and leapt almost vertically up into the branches of a large tree. Dumar watched as the creature lithely made her way from branch to branch, climbing higher until she was out of sight.
The big man breathed in deeply, trying to burn as many scents into his memory as possible. Whether he was really here or not, whether this was real or not, he wanted to associate the memories of the odd creature and bird with the perfumes and smells he was now inhaling.
Grethron led Dumar to a seating area in which sturdily crafted wooden benches surrounded a large, square table. Drooping trees providing shade from even the brightest sunshine, the light green leaves,lanceolate in shape, dancing gently in a light breeze.
Dumar took a seat on one bench, Grethron sat diagonally opposite.
"Come on then, Greth, what's the story?" The big man asked with no preamble.
Grethron took the small flask from within his shirt and took a sip before offering it to Dumar.
"I don't," the big man told him shaking his head.
"It is a long story," the old man began with a sigh. "In our youth Malthrom and I were both avid scholars of history, we would journey from city to city delving into the oldest of libraries and private book collections in an attempt to find any hidden secrets," Grethron smiled in reminiscence.
"I am sure there was a specific topic we were looking for to begin with, however, we both ended up learning for the sake of learning," he paused and looked down.
"Somewhere along the line we ended up fighting over a scroll which spoke of a great power.
"Malthrom wanted to head out and find this supposed power source immediately yet something told me it was a dangerous and foolhardy mission," the old man took a deep draught from his flask before continuing.
"I have spent many long hours attempting to identify the source of my reticence, it could have been the harshness of the language used in the scroll or the alien lettering itself, I simply do not know. Sufficed to say, I got a deep feeling of wrongness from somewhere and tried to convince Malthrom not to pursue it.
"He began by arguing that if we could discover the source of this power we could use it for the good of the populace, of the whole world. We could cure diseases, avert wars and any number of other noble ideals.
"To my way of seeing things, if there was a power, it would eventually corrupt someone and be used for evil," Grethron fell silent for a few moments, took another sip from his flask and looked at Dumar with an almost apologetic expression.
"Anyway," the oldster continued in his deep voice. "The outcome was that we both ended up seeking the final location mentioned in the scroll but we went separately," the old man sat in a trance like state, almost as if he was reliving the whole experience as he told the tale.