Long shadows cast by the setting sun altered the landscape, throwing dark fingers across every surface. Orange and pink hues, shot through with purple, stained the sky like a watercolour painting as Dumar sat in a comfortable chair alongside the old Necromancer and Pat'nathoor.
As the sun dropped below the horizon the temperature dropped dramatically, leeching all heat from the room. Working with practised efficiency, M'thar laid and lit a fire in the hearth which blossomed quickly, the flames eating hungrily into the wood.
Grethron had arranged for a light meal of fruits, meats and sweet cakes along with bread and wine, Dumar had opted for water and sipped at it as the Necromancer spoke.
"My plan for tomorrow is to make my way to the palace and seek an audience with the queen," he stated while staring, mesmerised, into the flames. "I will take young Vilt along to see if we can find some gainful employment for the boy."
Dumar recalled the moment earlier, as the youth M'thar had taken under his wing had been almost formally presented to the three companions by Sherilee.
The cat-like woman had somehow managed to turn the wraith Dumar had seen that morning into something resembling a young gentleman.
The youth had obviously been thoroughly washed, his long hair, which had been trimmed to hang just below his ears, shone with a lustre which had not been present before and his skin almost glowed now the filth had been scoured from it.
Dressed in dark green leggings and a pale blue, collarless shirt with highly polished, black boots, Vilt's outfit had been completed by the addition of a light brown, leather waistcoat which hung from his slight frame awkwardly yet somehow seemed to add to the spectacular transformation.
The young man had stood before them with his head held up, arms clasped gently behind his back as the old man looked him over. Despite the apparent ease with which Vilt stood before them, Dumar could sense the tension in him.
"And who is this young man?" Grethron had asked Sherilee with a gentle smile.
Vilt had blushed and attempted to hide a small smile of his own.
"Well I have to say, you have done an excellent job, Sherilee," the old man continued.
The cat like woman inclined her head in a small bow.
"And you," Grethron poked a finger at the youth. "I barely recognise. What do you think, son?" He asked M'thar.
"Impressive transformation," the big lizard rasped after licking each one of his eyes.
Dumar himself had nodded his head in appreciation.
Drawn now, back to the present, the big man tuned back in to what the old Necromancer was saying.
"Once she realises what is happening, I am sure she will listen to reason."
"Do you really believe so, father?" M'thar asked sceptically, "I think you will be in for a less than welcome reception," the Pat'nathoor added ominously.
Grethron made a face.
"She has no choice," he growled. "However stubborn she may be."
Dumar helped himself to some of the fruits, savouring the new and sometimes familiar flavours while he half listened to the unlikely father and son duo debate the possible outcomes of their visit to the palace.
It was only after the question had been posed for the second time Dumar realised the old man was speaking to him.
"Dumar?" Grethron called. "Will you accompany us to the palace tomorrow?" The old man had an expectant look upon his grizzled face.
The big man sighed, scratched his cheek and replied.
"I haven't really got much choice."
Grethron's face fell and he spoke again.
"You are no prisoner, Dumar. I thought this was understood."
"Maybe not," Dumar stated. "But if I'm going to make any kind of informed decision about what's happened to me, I'm going to have to get some more information to work with.
"Plus, what else am I supposed to do on an unfamiliar planet?" Dumar picked at the thin shirt he currently wore. "Any chance I can get a makeover like young Vilt? I've got to say I feel a bit under dressed."
Grethron paused in thought for such a time that Dumar was about to speak again when the old Necromancer brought his head up sharply, glancing from Dumar to M'thar.
"I have something to show you, Dumar," while his voice spoke of an uncertainty, it appeared the old man had made a decision. "You should come too, son."
Following the old man past the doorway to the room in which Dumar had been sleeping, the big man and the Pat'nathoor climbed a set of stone stairs, polished by time and footsteps, up to a second floor.
The hallway stretching away from them was barely visible in the light of the lamp which the old man had lit from the fire in the main hall.
As unadorned as the rest of this strange house, built from the same grey stone and possessing only one door which Dumar could see, the trio proceeded to the far end and a blank wall.
Grethron had paused to light a few more lanterns as they had progressed past the single door, each one adding its own greasy smoke to the atmosphere and the stench of burning fat assaulted Dumar's nose appallingly.
Passing the light he carried to M'thar, the old Necromancer turned his attention to the blank stone wall before him. Dumar was about to speak when he glanced at Grethron's eyes which appeared almost luminescent in the dim light from the lanterns.
The old man had an expression of happiness, joy even, plastered across his face and it was at that exact moment Dumar noticed the perfumed scent of flowers, which even overpowered the disgusting stench given off by the lanterns.
A sibilant hiss came to Dumar's ears next, drawing his attention to the stones of which the wall Grethron faced were made.
Before his disbelieving eyes, lines were forming across the face of each individual stone. Randomly they crazed their way from one side of a stone to the other only to return in the opposite direction.
Where they met with another stone, however, the lines would infect that next block and so on to the next and the next. Dumar could now hear the occasional pop as one of the large, grey blocks split along one of these fault lines, the two halves actually jumping minutely as the rock split.
All training ignored, the big man gawked at the sight as the large stone blocks broke down, getting progressively smaller before his eyes. Again, Dumar wondered if this kind of imagery could be achieved by some incredibly powerful computer plugged directly into his brain.
He doubted any of it came from his own imagination, mainly due to the fact he did not believe himself creative enough to think it up.
Although the floral scent had faded it had been replaced by a set of new odours; rock dust and hot metal alongside the smell of burning humus.
The rocks had broken down to a fine, powdery sand which began to flow away from the centre of the disturbance as if poured downhill and Dumar now realised the whole area that had been affected by the random cracking formed a large rectangle.
The edges of this rectangle seemed to be the destination for the grey sand which moved as if blown by a vast, yet controlled, wind.
Unable to wrench his gaze from the sight taking place before him, Dumar felt conflicting emotions running through him, awe, fear, wonder and shock all vied for places within his psyche as the parting sands cleared to reveal a door.