As if in sleep, the large man reclined almost happily, his hands clasped on his chest and head rolled to one side, pale but not colourless lips parted to show the tips of his white teeth.
As Grethron approached, he noted the man's face was almost shield shaped, coming to a pointed chin, his closed eyes revealed nothing but his long, black lashes spread across his cheek like a fan.
Hair as black as tar shone almost blue in the light which Grethron could not detect the source of and a sprinkling of the same colour graced the corpse's chin.
All these things and more, Grethron noticed yet the most overwhelming thing about this man was that he was easily twice the size of Grethron himself. Not just tall, but in breadth and bulk as well, he was a true giant in comparison.
A sucking sound made him jump, sending his blood cold and his heart to race as another door, the mirror of his own, opened.
A flash of recognition confused its way across the edges of his conscious mind and for an instant he thought this might be his brother, Malthrom. Yet Malthrom had never looked this way. What entered was a hunched, broken thing using one fisted hand to limp along like a deformed ape.
It was covered in a layer of what appeared to be ash and had been burned in places, cooked, charred flesh showing through the filth. In spite of the disgust which overwhelmed Grethron at the sight of this being, the smell of cooking meat made his stomach growl and flooded his mouth with saliva
Creeping across to the huge figure like a de-limbed spider, with trails of skin leaking fluid across the floor, the burned man growled.
"Greth," the single syllable drew out with this thing's ragged breathing and awesome horror crawled across Grethron's flesh, leaving goose-pimples in its wake.
"Mal?" He croaked. "Oh for the love of Dawa, Mal? What has happened to you?" Grethron took an involuntary step back from his brother as he raised his flame bald head to reveal one eye filled with agony, its partner swollen shut.
"Greth," was all Malthrom could say and Grethron's heart broke for his brother.
What could he do? How could he help? Grethron's mind raced for some kind of answer as Malthrom reached for him with his charred hand. Could he survive this kind of horrific injury? Would he even want to? His mind whirled as he reached down to touch what remained of his brother.
As soon as his hand touched the crisp skin of Malthrom's forearm, Grethron knew he was as good as dead. Without enough skin to cover him his brother would perish of a slow infection and die in agony.
Grethron could never allow that to happen to one he loved. It would be a kindness to kill him. It was at the same time this thought ripped its way into Grethron's brain that the giant corpse moved.
With inhuman speed, its arms shot forward, one monstrous hand slapping into each brother, knocking them across the room. As Grethron's thoughts fled down into calming darkness his final thought was he would never have to kill Malthrom now.
***
"When I awoke, Dawa alone knows how long later," Grethron said. "Malthrom was nowhere to be found and the massive corpse of whatever it had been had crumbled to dust," Grethron wiped at his eyes as he related the story.
Lifting the silver flask to his lips, the old man licked the final few drips from it and carried on.
"I was different after that. I was unable to precisely define how, yet I felt different inside. Somehow I knew Malthrom was alive, although in what form I could not tell and I also knew I had changed, had been changed by that thing."
"The body?" Dumar asked, it was the first time he had spoken since Grethron had begun his recounting, somehow getting mesmerised and drawn in by the old man's words.
Grethron nodded.
"I could merely guess at what had happened to begin with. Somehow a power had been given to Malthrom and I, stored in that body for thousands of years. It drew us in, made me dig my way down to it – Dawa only knows what it put Malthrom through to burn him like that – and got us close enough to transfer itself into us."
Dumar shook his head.
"You're talking as it it's got a mind of its own. Even if I believed in some kind of magic power, how can it possibly be alive?"
Not taking the slightest offence, Grethron scratched his chin, thinking.
"I still do not have all the answers. However it was, as you describe it, sentient, alive. It drew us into the heart of that dead city and made us both what I have come to think of as Necromancers."
"Necromancers?" Dumar's voice dripped sarcastically. "So you fuck about with dead people?"
Grethron shook his head in disgust and leaned back on the bench.
"A typical reaction," he sighed. "However, no I do not manipulate the dead," he stressed the word, highlighting the fact he would not use the word Dumar had
"When someone dies, the energy which anchors the soul to the body is given off. Malthrom and I have gained the ability to harness, collect and utilise that energy for any purpose."
"Right," Dumar drew the word out indicating his complete disbelief.
Grethron barked out a laugh like a dog chuffing half-heartedly.
"I found it difficult to believe myself, to begin with. However, there were a number of factors that contributed to my acceptance of the situation.
"When I finally came out of that hole, I could just feel something, some energy, surrounding me.
"According to all reason I can think of I ought to have died down there. Weeks without food and days without water followed by being launched across that room should have killed me.
"Yet I crawled up those stairs and out of the earth like I was born anew. I was still pitifully weak, thin and dirty but I was also empowered, imbued with this new energy. I was unaware, at the time, that I was able to use the power for anything, it was more as if I was drunk from the feeling of it.
"I managed to walk to the nearest place where people lived, a small hamlet of a few homes. Despite my appearance, I was allowed some food, a few scraps of clothing and somewhere warm to sleep until such time as I could be given passage to a larger town where I might find further aid.
"I spent three days there, and after the first day I was well enough to help a little around the place. I admit it was a far cry from the mansions, palaces and academic buildings I had been accustomed to, however I found a sense of community there I have rarely found anywhere since.
"What little they had they were more than willing to share, even in the midst of their grief as I came to learn the grandmother of one of the people who had taken me in was close to death.
"I had taken myself outside, affording them some privacy, there were two parents and four children in the home and I had no wish to intrude upon their vigil. As the sun was setting on the night of my third day there, I was facing their home when she passed away."
The old man's eyes gleamed with a mixture of sadness and joy as he recalled these events and even Dumar found it difficult not to believe the old man was sincere.
"I felt, more than saw her spirit leave the house and also found I had more energy surrounding me than before," Grethron glanced at Dumar who simply returned his stare.
"Of course, that was merely the first of many such occurrences, another happened at the end of the following day. Another of the families who lived nearby offered to let me ride with them to a market town the following day and I accepted.
"What I discovered was the frequency of these events grew as the population density grew, boosting the amount of power that surrounded me and eventually I realised there was a direct correlation between people who died and the amount of power I had."
"Not being funny, but is there an actual point to this story?" Dumar injected rudely.
Grethron fell silent, glaring at the other man who returned his gaze without a flinch.
"Yes, Dumar, there is a point to all this," the older man rose and gripped his staff tightly.
"There is a massive difference between the methods Malthrom and I use to acquire soul energy.
"I store whatever comes to me, using it sparingly if at all," Grethron slammed the butt of his negative energy staff against the ground as he added. "Malthrom will kill anyone he can in order to harvest his."