Lorneria rolled by the window of the carriage as Dumar stared outside thinking on Grethron's words. The old man had spoken of this queen with an air of familiarity before, as if he was at least acquainted with her, yet now his words seemed as if this may be a wasted journey.
He wondered, once more, if any of this were real and if so what his participation may turn out to be. The big man was jolted from his thoughts as the carriage halted abruptly and a frowning Grethron leaned out to see why they had stopped.
"Something is amiss," the old man stated after he sat back down. "The palace gates are sealed and a crowd of people have gathered, waiting to gain access," he opened the door and climbed down followed by Dumar and Vilt.
Dumar followed the old man's gaze along the line of waiting people and palta teams to the vast pair of iron bound, wooden gates which had stopped the flow of traffic.
A crowd had gathered before the gates, hammering against the wood and shouting in an attempt to gain access. Tempers had become frayed and a few people had started to fight amongst themselves.
Dumar had little difficulty in seeing over the crowds of men and animals as he appeared to be at least a head taller than the tallest man he could see, only a few of the wagons laden with supplies for the palace blocked his view. He assumed this was what Grethron had meant when he had called him conspicuous.
"There is definitely something amiss here," Grethron stated with a small degree of concern. "The gates have only ever been closed in times of extreme danger to the royal family," he began to make his way towards the palace. "Royal Guards should also be on post."
Dumar followed the old man towards the crowd gathered at the gates, examining the palace as he did so.
The massive pair of gates looked as if they had been built from individual tree trunks, squared off and held together with vast iron bands which had been fixed to the wood with nails the thickness of Dumar's arm.
To either side of the gateway, stone-built walls stretched away and rose easily up to twenty feet in height. The granite they were built from looked to have been harvested from the hills that surrounded the palace enclosure, sealing the entire building and grounds inside a natural basin.
Dumar studied the hillsides around the palace, noting how they had been shaped and carved into sheer drops which would be nearly impossible to climb down. This place was virtually impregnable, Dumar thought – unless someone had access to the kind of ordnance he had been trained to make and use.
What Dumar could see of the front façade of the building was a vast, white stone rectangle, finished at either end with a tower that rose to a high point.
Afternoon sun reflected glossily from the walls and glazed windows. Atop each tower, pennants and flags depicting various coats of arms and animals, flew, the only one recognisable to Dumar being a sleek palta depicted running.
A long balcony ran half the length of the building allowing access from several of the larger windows which must have been, Dumar assumed, doors.
Across the face of the building at regular spaces, carved and coloured squares broke the monotony of the white stone by adding azure and emerald touches.
Dumar was unable to see the lower portions of the building due to the surrounding and imposing curtain wall towards which they were now walking.
"Make way!" Grethron shouted as he reached the thickest knot of men milling around before the gates. "Allow us access!"
A few people in drab greys and browns who had been shouting and beating on the gates gave way to the old man. One, however, would not yield.
"Who are you?" Demanded the middle-aged man.
He was a rather large gentleman although some of his bulk was certainly made of fat rather than muscle.
Expensive looking materials in reds and creams draped his frame, running down to voluminous trousers that ballooned at the knees before entering highly polished black boots. He held the robes closed at his chest with his left hand, three large rings dripping with gemstones adorning the last three fingers.
His receding hairline led up to thinning hair which had been combed straight back from his head and judging by the staining on the skin of his scalp, badly dyed also.
Drooping eyes bored into Grethron as the man spun around to face him and his almost feminine mouth formed a moue of repulsion as soon as the question had left it.
Grethron attempted to push past the man without any form of tact until the stranger raised his right hand, summoning two armed men, both of whom had swords partially drawn.
They inserted themselves between Grethron and their master, shoving the old man backwards into Dumar. The big manmoved slightly away from Grethron – after catching him – allowing him full access to these three.
Unaware of the protocol involved here, Dumar would not allow himself, Grethron or Vilt to be attacked by these idiots.
The old Necromancer regained his composure and glared up at the brightly dressed man.
"I am Grethron Molindara!" He growled. "I have no interest in who you are. Now step aside."
One of the larger man's thugs drew his sword fully, Dumar noting the keenly sharpened edge and lack of any rust or dirt.
From his own training in edged weapons and hand to hand combat, Dumar knew this man had been trained well enough to keep his weapon in good order. As soon as the blade had been drawn, the majority of the crowd melted away to a safe distance from which to witness the fight.
Glancing at some of the faces in the crowd, he also noticed many of the expressions were anticipatory as if only the shedding of blood would satisfy their owners.
"A name from history!" The red dressed man sneered to the crowd. "Grethron Molindara indeed! I say you are a charlatan and fool and need to be swept aside by your superiors."
"I have heard enough of this!" Grethron declared in a growl and attempted to push past the first armed man.
Time slowed for Dumar as the armed guard raised his sword to strike at the old man. He saw the glint of sunlight on the blade, the angry set of the guard's face as his sword began its slow arc towards Grethron and the eyes of the second guard widen as he realised Dumar was already moving.
Although, to Dumar, the passage of time seemed to be slower than normal, to his opponents it looked as if the big man moved with unbelievable speed.
Dumar saw there would be no need to defend the old man as he had already moved to block the sword with the staff he carried. Turning his attention to the other guard, Dumar thrust his hand out, palm outwards, and shoved him in the chest. The blow was forceful enough to throw the second man backwards, knocking his red clad master over as well.
Grethron caught the first swordsman's blade on the midnight staff he carried. At the point of contact a flash of bright violet light exploded from the staff, like the bursting of a neon light, throwing the swordsman over his two companions.
"Cease this!" The Necromancer thundered in a voice which could have shattered rock.
It was unclear whether it was due to the violence or the volume of his voice, however all three men remained on the floor.
The old man turned to the amassed crowd who were staring in awe at the two men before them and in the same voice he had used before demanded answers.
"Has anyone here knowledge of why these gates are sealed?" Silence was the only response anyone gave so the old necromancer turned his attention to the wood itself.
Focussing his concentration on one of the huge gates, Grethron raised his staff to place the butt end against the grained surface. Leaning his weight against the staff, Grethron closed his eyes for a moment as Dumar glanced around them making sure no one else attacked.
The two swordsmen and red garbed man had regained their feet and moved away a few paces, casting openly hostile glares at Dumar and Grethron.
The old man shifted his weight away from the gate and removed his staff, taking a few paces away from the wood and indicating Vilt and Dumar should do the same.
A few muttering voices could be heard from the crowd and red garb sneered openly.
"What now, oh great and powerful one?"
Grethron looked at Dumar, ignoring the jibe and allowed a small grin to play about his bearded mouth as he indicated the gate.
Dumar detected a faint sound coming from the wood of the gate, a creaking noise interrupted by occasional pops and cracking sounds. In appearance, the wood took on a lighter hue, eventually turning a silvery grey while the metalwork embedded within the wood began to turn an orange red.
Cries of alarm were raised from in the crowd as some of the people gathered noticed the effect of Grethron's power. It appeared as if the old man had made the gate age by centuries before their very eyes.
Large rents formed in the grain of the wood as the softer timbers became dust and fell to the floor, the top and bottom ends of the vast planks which made up the gate took on the ragged appearance of ancient wood.
A loud shrieking noise issued from the gate as the wood and metalwork of the hinges parted suddenly, the wood bowing and twisting even as it turned to dust before them.
One section of the gate, as thick as Dumar was wide, fell outwards towards the old man and his two companions, who were forced to shield their eyes from the gust of particle filled wind it threw towards them and the awestruck crowd.
One of the massively formed hinges, now a twisted hunk of rusted metal, dropped to the floor with a dull thump bringing the whole process to a close.
Grethron stepped toward the pile of dust and rust, all that remained of the gate, while pointedly ignoring the crowd and foolish men who had attacked him.
"Wait!" The shouted command came from the red garbed man who had not long ago regained his feet.
Grethron did not turn, merely took a deep breath and blew it out once more. The man in red approached the necromancer and looked directly at him.
Grethron rolled his eyes around in time to witness the chubby man drop to one knee.
"Your most exalted highness," he said in a quiet, reverent tone. "Please accept the apology of your most lowly servant."
Grethron turned to face the man and nodded once before speaking again.
"I need to find the queen, lord...?"
"Corien, highness."
Dumar raised an eyebrow at Vilt who shrugged back, apparently as puzzled as Dumar over Corien's turnabout.
"Well, lord Corien," Grethron continued. "I will find her majesty. You should remain here and deny access to those who wish to gain entry."
"As you command, highness." Lord Corien bowed once more.